


Dwarven Ale

by ScriptrixDraconum



Series: Steel and Roses [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Disappointment, Drinking, Drunkenness, F/M, Orzammar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 13:31:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3611871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScriptrixDraconum/pseuds/ScriptrixDraconum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Esmé Cousland gets fantastically drunk in a tavern in Orzammar, and Alistair is being a big fat grumpypants about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dwarven Ale

“Just this once, for the first time in  _way_ too long,  _I’m_ going to let myself  _relax_ .” Adamant and defensive to a fault, I swigged the remaining dregs of ale from my stein and slammed the stone mug onto the hardwood tavern table. The ale had a strange, earthy taste, something akin to a strong stout, but with more dirt. “Another!”

Oghren chuckled. “I’m likin’ you more and more, young lady.”

Alistair sighed, and sat himself down across the table from me. “Look, I know it’s been a long… _long_ … few weeks, and I know we just survived a rather distressing ordeal in the Deep Roads… I never want to see another golem so long as I live… but we really don’t have the leisure to get drunk. At least, so drunk we can’t travel in the morning.” I watched the young man before me leer at Oghren. “ _Some_ of us,” he turned back to me, an eyebrow raised, “can’t handle our ale.”

“I can so handle my ale,” I countered. “And, yes, I need a damn drink. Or ten.” A waitress walked over to the table and took my empty stein away. “It’s only costing us those gems we found underground, anyway. And we found a lot of gems.”

“Well _I_ am going to bed.” Alistair rose from the table, downed his glass of water, and stormed off to the rear of the tavern where room upon room awaited weary patrons.

Oghren chortled, and took a large bite out of his bread. “I think somethin’ down Deep crawled up his arse when we weren’t lookin’.”

“Hmph.” My third stein of ale arrived, and I took a long drink. “I thought he enjoyed drinking, judging by his stories, of him and the other Wardens.”

“He doesn’t like the taste of it,” Leliana added, emerging from the shadows with a plate of food. “Neither do I. I also don’t like what it does to my constitution.”

“Constitution?” I asked before burping.

“It makes me very, very drunk.”

I grinned, nodded, and took another sip.

Later, as I wavered my way back to my room, I recalled the night Gilmore and I had spent together while fabulously drunk. It had only been a few months, perhaps, since that night, but it felt like a lifetime ago. I missed him. I wondered if he stilled lived, free and fighting for Ferelden, or if Howe and his men killed him, too. Thankfully, the vast quantity of ale in my belly prevented me from crying myself to sleep. Instead, I giggled at nothing in particular.

“What’s so funny?” someone grumbled from behind me.

I turned to find Alistair, still in his armor, holding bathing supplies and headed for the washroom.

“Time t’ wash th’ darkblood spawn off you, eh?” I giggled again, and continued on my way to my room.

“Maker, you’re completely smashed!”

“I’ll be _fine_ , Alllsturrr. Lulllianuh gave me this.” I held up a small green bottle of a hangover-preventing tonic that my Orlesian friend convinced me to drink.

“And what if the darkspawn broke through the ranks in the Deep Roads and decided to raid the city tonght? Then what?”

“That won’t happen.”

“It could.”

“We would know, wouldn’t we?” I smirked. “ _Wwwarden_ sense _tingling_ ,” I made a sparkling gesture with my fingers and laughed.

The man sighed, and turned back toward the washroom.

“I wish you’d’ve drunk with us,” I called to him. “Would’ve been fun.” I giggled, recalling something Oghren had said. “You’ve changed, I think.” Alistair stopped, and turned. “You’ve somethin’ up your bum these last couple weeks. When we first met, you were such a—“ I giggled, “a smart-ass. And nice. Sweet, even. Now you’re just an ass.”

“I can assure you, Esmé,” he glared sternly, gesturing with his hands in mild disgust, “that I’ve not nor have I ever had anything up my bum.”

I stepped up to him, slowly, speaking one word per step. “Well… then… _sum-thing_ … is… eatinggg… at… you.” I stopped in front of him, peering up through my hazy eyes. “Maybe you need t’ talk to someone ‘bout it.”

Alistair grumbled. “ _Not_ now. _Not_ here. And _not_ while you’re like _this_.”

He turned and stomped away into the washroom.

I shrugged, and headed to bed.


End file.
